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In tbe IRejt Generation 


* Hnb ©tbec Stories. * 





-by 


Clarence Crane. 


( FIRST EDITION .) 



/QP&wsHr e V 
SEP 26 ' 898 

tfranfclin printing Company 
1896 . 






X 


I 


COPYRIGHT, 1896, 
BY CLARENCE CRANE. 


MALCOLM SPRINGER . 


VT7HERE is a certain wayside-inn situated among the hills in the 
North Country that has always appealed to me as being an 
ideal caravansary. Great oaks stretch their protecting arms over 
its gable roof and many familiar shrubs and creepers have ob- 
sessed the interstices and sides to such a degree that it has every 
appearance of a veritable hanging nest of gigantic proportions. 

I trust that it will be our fortune during the various pilgrim- 
ages of life, to meet in like homely quarters, where our horses 
will be well cared for, and the ancient customs properly carried 
out in the matter of good cheer, so that the old tales and songs, 
with perchance many happy additions, may lack nothing of their 
pristine vigor and be given with as much gusto as in the days of 
our bohemian vicissitudes . 


/ 



Ci 5 t of 3al(^s apd po<^p\s. 


PAGE. 


In the Next Generation 13 

The Elephant 15 

Evolution of a Poetaster 16 

A Lydian Legend 21 

The Medium 22 

Faith 32 

The Sun-child 33 

Lady May 38 

Reinstatement 39 

Patience 40 














^ 1 9 tl?<? J%t Q^ratiop. 

AN ETCHING. 


n FACE of isabel yellow, framed by straggling curls of filthy 
^ gray hair ; great eyes that had played meerschaum so long 
to the nicotine of rum that the glitter of manhood had entirely 
disappeared and left them a rusty, rheumy red. It was merely a 
question of days before the dikes burst and plunged Asahel 
Tisdale, curses and wreckage, down the drains of death to the 
mother of the obscure multitude — the morgue. 

We were sitting in the inner room of McSoreley’s pot-house, 
the old resort of the east-side, frequented chiefly by Englishmen 
who admire the old man’s method of mixing his “ ’alf and ’alf ” 
when he entered. 

Hogeboom, who is one of the profession, said as he pointed 
him out, “ There goes a man whose daughter will play the devil 
with her relatives in the next generation.” 

“You have seen her, she is Delia Tisdale, who plays ‘Aurora 
Luce ’ in the farce at the Garden.” 

Delia Tisdale’s reputatation hung in more shreds than the 
tattered battle-flags of the Old Guard. 

“ Save your story,” I said, “ she is as uninteresting to me as 
yonder Costigan.” 


14 


“ Well, for myself, I have known Delia a long time. We 
met on the Western circuit.” 

“ A sweetheart, Jalin?” I questioned. 

“ No, and there is no story, only a contrast ; ” yonder you per- 
ceive her father with mottled lips, longing to be again wound up by 
the windlass of mixed drinks. The mere fragment of a tale exists 
about the mother of Delia. She came of a stern Puritan family, 
the men all lawyers or clergymen, and the women hard 
as the adamantine paths of Old Colony virtue. She 

married against the wishes of her family, and the 
threads of relationship were broken forever. The child of the 
blood came into the world, and Hilda the neglected daughter of 
the Berkleys died. Even then no hope came for the future of 
Delia from this rich and influential home. There were other 
daughters of the Berkleys but they were gifted only with the 
appreciation of economy, such as the purchasing of slightly 
soiled Morocco shoes ; they could not create, but were able to 
translate or copy Rablais. 

Delia the daughter of circumstance, marked from her 
mother’s womb with ferocity and cunning, studies in silence the 
religion of revenge. And the rumors that scale the mountains of 
the seasons, and pass the bridgeless ravines of social distinction, 
carry the burden of the thoughts of this excellent family to 
the child of Hilda, and they are not forgotten. 

There is no story as yet, but the feud grows, and in the next 
generation, oh l ye relatives, when the tocsin sounds and red 
scandal stains the awakened sky, when down the white streets 
the bells sing a mad chorus, not your readiness with bed-room 
texts will save you. Little words return at night and paint the 
secret sign upon your portal. Soon the watch-dog will creep 
into his kennel and begin the long slumber of death. 

The drunkard’s offspring lives ; even revenge is a study, and 
have not Delia’s kins-people sown for the next generation? 

Poor wilted wisdom of the law, thou art not always like the 
Rose of Sharon. 


15 



©HE SLEPHAim 



H7HERE is a gloomy grace in his majestic face, 

* A philosophic swing to his probosis, and 
A grim and measured fling of mighty gnarled limbs^ 
Slow, and with old world stateliness he passeth on ; 
Chilling the sunlight with his cold secretive eyes 
That gravely gleam from out the massive, swaying head; 
Oh ! ponderous idol of great patience, marching down, 
Crushing each narrow confine to a tragic path ; 

How like thou art to some stupendous thought that bears 
Cold words of wisdom through a century of lust. 




THE EVOLUTION 

OF 

A POETASTER. 



PYGMEAN imp had attached himself to a projecting crag 
3"\ in one of the western hills and was weeping piteously. 

A ragged rock, with a bat-like, cat-like creature embracing 
its weather-worn face is not a gracious sight, yet as flowers 
flourish on dung-hills and the ancient law of “ small begin- 
nings ” still has force, and is broad enough to cover devilkins, no 
exception need be taken. 

It was a spring day. The mimic billows of the Colorado 
played at the base of the fluted crags, and swept in and out of 
the caverns in a sort of senseless game of hide and seek. The 
sun shone royally, not disdaining to shimmer down a few beams 
upon the imp whose heart already seemed about to melt from 
the intensity of his misery. Old friend Phoebus we blame you 
for many a rainy day, when we ought to censure the prejudiced 
clouds which are forever sulkily rolling across somebody’s sky 
and afterwards trying to smooth matters out by tickling the 
fancy with fantastic rain-bows ; stealing our friend’s laughter 
and working it over into something as hopeful but not so last- 
ing. 

As to the son of Sheol, he continued to sob and whine until 
about the going down of the sun, when Eblis, the Prince of 
Darkness, stalked out of an adjacent retreat and accosted him. 

“My son,” he said, “one would think you were trying to 
master the art of worldly compassion ; this is no way to cultivate 


17 


the spirit of your sire ; you split my ears with your Belfast blub- 
bering, rob me of my siesta and trouble my conscience. What 
we do not know to-day we are apt to know to-morrow ; I plainly 
perceive you are discontented ! ” 

“ ’Tis so,” squeaked the devilkin, clambering over the angle 
of the cliff. “ I admit it. I am possessed by a terrible desire. 
Papa, have you ever longed for anything ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Eblis with a grin, “ except for power when 
the last trumpet blows to transform myself into something ac- 
ceptable, and so fly into heaven ! ” 

“That is it !” shrieked the imp, “you have a desire, you 
entertain a hope, a very faint hope perhaps, but it should cause 
you to open your umbrella-like sympathy in my case ! ” 

“And what may your hope or wish be?” asked the Devil 
dryly. 

“ Father, I desire to be a poet,” sighed the tearful child, 
sucking his trembling little hoof. 

‘ ‘ A poet ! ” Satan groaned. 

The sun gave one sickly smile and dropped behind the hills. 

The breeze became breathless ; even the wilfull waves left 
off kissing in the caverns and listened. 

We have heard of poets seeking the shades of Sheol for in- 
spiration. We remember a certain singer who wandered as far 
in search of his wife ; we may have been there ourselves, we do 
not say, but have we ever known of a born devil aspiring to 
poetry ? 

It was a denouement which Satan did not expect. 

He may have imagined that his offspring desired to burn a 
city, or wished for longer horns or some similar infernal adorn- 
ment ; but when he heard him declare that he wished to be a 
poet, the Arch-Fiend turned pale, staggered, and undoubtedly 
would have fallen had he not grasped a portion of the rock with 
his boa-constrictor-like tail. 

“ Father,” whined the infant, “ grant my wish. You always 
said there were some worldlings you could shame. If I fail, as 
the saying goes, I shall soon seek the home fire-side I ” 


18 


Satan mused. 

“ Papa,” the small one asked, “ have there never been poets 
who were of our kind?” 

“ Child, in the history of the world we may learn of men 
who considered themselves verse-makers, and tyros who imag- 
ined they were as skillful as myself. Alas ! they were lunatics. 

“ Many taught foolish things ; many made people ill.” 

“ But did not these mortals steal your style and pilfer pages 
from your essay on apes entitled, “ When you know as much as 
I do, you may fiddle your lips on your teeth ? ” 

“ Even so, some took a little, while others pillaged right and 
left. Human nature is like the bottom of a muddy river, and the 
good things which drop from God’s galleys sink so far into the 
mire that even I have much trouble to get at them.” 

“ But what fate befell these same thieves ? ” 

“ Nothing at the time, child. Some like a bite. Others the 
entire apple. I was satisfied. Again, these three score and ten 
year fellows were wise after their own fashion. They cracked 
my safe for a few ideas, escorted with their versatile fingers the 
work of established authors into their own manuscripts, and 
having sucked from the crater of literary crime a kind of con- 
centrated ‘ contrition, confession and satisfaction,’ by degrees 
they began to believe in themselves, and at last raised on the 
flattery of the foolish, toppled over the wall into certainty.” 

“Oh, Papa ! what an orator you are ! ” 

“ I have made tempting speeches in my time,” quoth the 
grand adversary of man, at the same instant shooting at his son 
a, sublimely cunning glance. 

The small one switched up his tail for a handkerchief, the 
excitement of the discussion having made his nose bleed. 

“Papa, please permit me to be a poet. I won’t write any- 
thing personal. Please do ! ” and the sunny eyes of little sin 
gazed beseechingly upon the father fiend. 

Satan scratched his right horn thoughtfully. 

He wished to please his offspring ; that was natural. 

He wished to please himself ; that was devilish. 


19 


If this ambitious imp should stigmatize him as good in a 
book it would assuredly injure his reputation ; thus he argued : 
The world would not care for him if he lost his old time smile. 
His wickedness was his rouge-pot, and his originality, the es- 
sence of his popularity. He who saith the Devil is not interest- 
ing hath one eye, and that near the turn of his coat. 

Eblis, taken from the wings of the theatre Hades, where ac- 
cording to theological tradition, he spends much of his time 
plotting and maturing those surprising song and dance enter- 
tainments, which are the delight and wonder of the nations, and 
slammed down in the middle of the proverbial ten acre lot, 
along with certain mortals we perhaps have in mind, would be 
no very terrifying sight ; the diabolical variety of his deviceful 
grin would speedily vanish, and the Devil constitute but one 
more kitten-eyed wonder, gathered into the rag-bag of forget- 
fulness. 

The Prince of Darkness was aware of this. 

At last he turned to the anxious devilkin. “ Son of the Com- 
bustible Realm,” he began, “ never must it be said that Eblis 
followed the puny precedents of men, and refused to allow one 
of his race to become a slave of the pen ; no one shall dare to 
be original in these days but myself. Your father has spoken ! ” 
He emphasized his last words with a graceful and expressive 
jesture. 

“ Now pretty one,” he continued, “ rise and turn your face 
toward the great city — thus. Attention ! When you hear me 
beat the rock with my cloven hoofs, and when you hear me roar 
like the Titans of Tartaros, then look to it that you breathe 
hard and scream ‘ Willi nilli ! I’m a poet ! I’m a verse-maker ! 
I’m mad ! ’ ” 

“ Father, you have a long head,” said the imp. 

“ Indeed son, many believe so.” 

i% One moment, father ; kiss me goodbye.” 

Presently the chief of the apostate angels gathered himself 
together, hammered the rock with his cloven hoofs and bellowed 
like ten billion infuriated bulls; and the inimitable imp, sta- 


20 


tioned near the edge of the crag, screamed out the appropriate 
words. 

Immediately the clouds fell and enveloped them ; blue jets 
of fire sprang like serpents from the fissures of the cliff, and the 
tempest of Satan’s roaring resembled the awful clash of two 
worlds. As suddenly the tumult ceased. The flames died out, 
the nebulae rose, and upon the crag there stood alone a human 
being — a stripling — clad in a cutaway coat, blase trousers and a 
slouch hat. In one hand he held a copy of the Iliad. He gazed 
through the twilight with glowing eyes and clasped his hands in 
ecstacy behind him. In doing so he discovered that he was 
tailless. For an instant his face was strongly marked with 
regret. Then the philosophy of poetry came to the rescue. 

“ One cannot be entirely blessed from horn to hoof,” he 
murmured. “ Now for my career. I wonder when I’ll see father 
again.” 



21 


a X$)ian Xecjent). 


i. 

QNCE as a Lydian legend doth relate 

Two beauteous Peri sisters, Love and Hate, 

Having escaped the Elfin sentry band, 

That clusters at the gates of Fairy-land — 

Strayed into a fair garden of our earth 

And roused the drowsy echoes by their mirth. 

II. 

Now while like bees they solved this flower, that leaf, 

There came two earthly strollers, Joy and Grief ; 

And Grief gazed long on modest Love, while Joy 
Paid ardent court to tempting Hate — less coy: 

Anon they wedded at the neighboring fane, 

Discord with smiles and tenderness with pain. 

III. 

But when sweet Eos swept the morning’s bars, 

Flamed, laughed and sang to sleep the pallid stars, 

The Peri queen decreed their bliss be brief, 

Joy weary grew of Hate ; Love sadder waned by Grief, 
Alas! that Hate should fret the feast of Joy ; 

Alack ! that grief should prove Love’s dark alloy. 

IT. 

Malice and mirth, and perfect love and pain 
Forever mingle in each day’s refrain ; 

Yet would that other myths like unto love 
Desert the airy palaces above — 

Descend and light all wanderers with grief 
As Eos burnishes the shrunken leaf. 




(She (Medium. 



A SPIRITUALISTIC-DETECTIVE STORY. 



PART I. 


H7HE public circle was over and my proselytes had departed. 
* I seated myself in an arm chair before the grate fire, intend- 
ing to derive some enjoyment from the remainder of the evening, 
and as I had my pipe, a novel and a bottle of Muscatel wine on 
the stand at my elbow, I saw no reason to believe otherwise. 

Now, I have a habit of singing or rather of humming in 
falsetto softly to myself when I am planning phenomena to 
amuse the one-eyed Spiritualists, or whenever I am interested in 
anything. 

Turning over the leaves of the book I had chosen to keep me 
company, I chanced upon this sentence used as a quotation, “ Be 
sure your sin will find you out.” 

I chanted it over several times after the manner of a certain 
celebrated savant in order to arrive at the correct interpretation. 

Suddenly the significance of the text dawned upon me. 

*• Be sure your sin will find you out,” that was it. 

My first thought had been that the text claimed that all sins 
are brought to light eventually, an unpleasant reflection for one 
who makes a living out of deviltry ; but I knew that thousands 


23 


of crimes had never been unearthed, and are [never likely to be, 
and the thought gave me comfort. 

After all, it was merely a matter of conscience, and as my 
sins never troubled me when they brought money in their little 
hands, I did not fear being haunted by them in any such indefi- 
nite hour when it might choose to awake. Good conscience, sleep 
on ! A Spirit medium hath no business with thee. 

Again I chanted in falsetto the quotation as a polite good- 
bye to the thought, and just as I finished with an improvised 
cadenza, my electric bell began to trill. 

It did not ring seven times ; it gave but one peal. 

Seven sharp touches of the button at the street door entrance 
was a signal which informed me that one of my intimate friends 
had called. 

. Was it possible that old Mrs. Clark had returned for another 
kiss from her pet spirit Aimee ? 

My apartment of three rooms was on the first floor of No. 
499 street, Brooklyn, and I had settled upon it as my abid- 

ing place because of a very handy office door that led directly 
from the entrance into my flat. I believe that it had been so 
arranged to suit the convenience of a medical man who had oc- 
cupied it for a few months. 

The curtains of the front windows were drawn and the 
blinds closed. I did not intend to spoil my evening by furnish- 
ing amusement for some old sycophant who had not received 
a sufficient dose of Spritualism at the public circle, so I remained 
in my arm chair. 

Suddenly the bell chimed seven times in quick succession. 

A psychic always pays attention to signals, so I rose, tucked 
my pipe into my pocket, placed the bottle of wine behind the 
blower, and then opened the door. 

The gas was burning in the vestibule, and I at once recog- 
nized my visitor. 

It was no less a person than Louis Newcome of Newcome’s 
Detective Agency. 

He shook the snow from the rim of his hat and entered. 


24 


“ Ah, Monsieur Enarc, you have a snug fire, but no carpet 
on your floor.” he remarked. 

“If I were richer I should invest in some Turkish rugs,” I 
replied, closing the door. “ ’Tis a stormy night.” 

“Monsieur Enarc,” he pursued, drawing a chair up to the 
fire, “ on my way down to my office in the “World” build- 
ing this morning I passed a store where they have for sale some 
very fine carpets. I think you can make a good choice there.” 

“ You have something on the tapis,” I suggested. 

v Yes, I dropped in to tell you that to-morrow night a smart 
young lady intends calling upon you.” 

“ Indeed. I should like to hear the details. Will you have 
a cigar ? ” 

“ No, but I will try a little of that wine in the bottle behind 
the blower. You should always make allowance for a shadow ; 
even the ghost of a black bottle tells where the substance lies.” 

I poured out a glass of the Muscatel and handed it to him. 

“ Now for the details,” he said. 

“In a certain seminary in this State the faculty have had 
many complaints lodged with them by the young women stu- 
dents. 

“ One girl has lost a diamond ring, three others have had 
their watches stolen, and to crown all, Miss Childs, daughter of 
one of the richest men in New York, lias been robbed of a five 
thousand dollar diamond necklace which was a present from 
her father on her twentieth birthday. 

“ Now people do not drop diamond necklaces as they drop 
their relatives, and so I was called upon to locate the thief and 
recover the pilfered property. 

“After a conference with the principal of the institution, I 
requested permission to investigate the room of each girl student. 

“ He objected to this, but as I insisted he at last yielded, and 
when the girls were all occupied in the class rooms we made a 
grand circuit. I did not expect to di. cover anything, but as 
they sing in ‘ La Cigale,’ ‘ Why not begin at the beginning.’ 

“In a certain room in the upper corridor I found my first 


25 


clue. One of the panes of glass in the window of the room had 
been scratched by a diamond. I also observed a scratch made 
after the fashion of the first part of the letter A, as if the person 
making the curve had started to write a name, and then thought 
better of it. 

“ The usual routine search followed, and having finished, I 
inquired of the principal as to who occupied the room. He in- 
formed me that Miss Alice Greville, of New York, was the 
occupant, it having been assigned to her early in the year. 

“ I then requested him to obtain from each student a 
list of jewelry, and thus knowing their possessions, my first clue 
began to lend me definite assistance. From the inventory I 
learned that Miss Greville possessed no diamonds, but many 
times had expressed great admiration for them.” 

“ Most persons of sound sense are fond of diamonds,” I 
said. 

“Quite correct, Monsieur Enarc. To continue : “ I gave the 
principal no hint of my suspicions, but put in a week’s quiet 
work and discovered several important facts. 

“ My plans are now arranged. I have brought it about that 
Miss Greville is spending the Easter holidays with the young 
lady who lost the necklace, and who is working under my direc- 
tions. 

“ Now to business. You perceive the crime. I have discov- 
ered that young as she is, Miss Greville is a thorough Spiritualist, 
and thus have decided that she shall visit you. 

“ Your advertisement in Sunday’s Eagle has been brought to 
her notice by Miss Childs, the young woman who lost the neck- 
lace. Miss Childs is to feign great interest in the matter and tell 
Miss Greville that she intends to visit you. Of course Alice 
Greville will accompany her. 

“When they appear here for a sitting, the young woman 
who has lost the necklace will declare that she is too timid after 
all to enter your seance chamber. Then we trust that our thief 
will laugh and say that she is not afraid to have a sitting ; of 
course in that case you will give her a seance.” 


26 


“ But what shall I tell her ? ” 

“ Monsieur Enarc, you astonish me. A medium, and not 
know what to say ? Well, in the first seance you give, say that 
her mother, who died long ago, is with her. That she gives the 
name of ‘ Louise,’ and seems grieved about something. Then 
talk of a great shadow closing upon her life.” 

“You wish me to work upon her so that she will make a 
confession ? ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“And this information about her mother is correct? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What time shall I expect her to-morrow night?” 

“ At eight o’clock.” 

“ I shall count upon affairs taking the turn you have 
prophesied.” 

“You may count upon it ; and now I must leave you. Do 
your best to-morrow night, and by the way I shall arrive at 7 
p. m., and you can conceal me in your private room, that is, the 
next one to the cabinet. I wish to hear all that is said. Now I 
will bid you good-night, and do not forget the Turkish rugs.” 


PART II. 


F T seven o’clock the following night the secret service gentle- 
man pressed the electric button, and I admitted him and 
concealed him in the private apartment adjoining the seance 
cabinet. 

At 8 p. m. my bell rang once again, and I hastily opened the 
door. Two young women stood in the entrance. 

“ Is this Monsieur Enarc,” said the one nearest to the door. 
“Yes, I am the medium,” I said, stepping aside that they 
might enter. 

They were nearly of the same age, that is, not over twenty. 
The one who had first addressed me, and who was a very beauti- 


27 


ful bloned, said, “ Monsieur Enarc, we have called for a ‘ sitting,* 
at least my friend has, and if you could give her the time now, 
she would be greatly obliged to you.” 

The young lady who had lost the diamond necklace then 
spoke in a hesitating manner: “I would like a * sitting ’ very 
much — that is, I would like to make an appointment for a seance 
— not to-night, but to-morrow if you can accommodate me.” 

“Why, Margaret, you came purposely for a ‘sitting’ to- 
night : I fear she is timid, Monsieur Enarc.” 

“ There is nothing to fear from the Spirit World,” I said, 
quietly. 

“ I think I will wait,” responded the youDg lady I knew to 
be Miss Childs, as she glanced apprehensively about the apart- 
ment. 

“ Well, as my friend is somewhat nervous and does not care 
for a seance to-night, perhaps it is better so. Could you give 
me a ‘ sitting? ’ ” inquired Miss Greville. 

Drawing out my watch, I glanced at it, and then said, “ Yes, 
I have just sufficient time as I have an appointment at 9 p. m.” 

The* young ladies held a whispered consultation, and Miss 
Greville said, “ I am ready.” 

I led the way to the cabinet. 

Now I have always made it a point of having my seance 
room furnished as impressively as possible. It was a small apart- 
ment in the rear of the reception room and the walls were hung 
with heavy tapestry, relieved only by a painting of my famous 
spirit-guide, Dr. Oesmond. 

A brasier placed on an onyx stand gave forth incense, and 
added to the remarkable flavor of mystery. 

There were two chairs in the cabinet. I invited Miss Grev- 
ille to be seated, and then taking the seat opposite, I placed it 
near her and took her hand in mine. 

“ I shall now pass into the trance state, and my guide, Dr. 
Oesmond, will take possession of me and speak with you. You 
must not withdraw your hand from mine or the established 
magnetic circle will be broken.” 


28 


She murmured her acquiescence. 

I closed my eyes and remained perfectly quiet. 

There was very little light in the cabinet, and the air was 
burdened with the incense. 

After a proper pause I shuddered and said in an icy whisper, 

“ Daughter, the spirit of Dr. Oesmond is with you, the guide of 
this young medium. He comes from the other world and enters 
your sphere of life ; he perceives your soul surroundings and 
your material existence. 

“Lo! from the shades comes one to you. She calls your 
name ; she says ‘ Alice, I am your mother.’ Do you under- 
stand ?.” 

The supposed diamond thief faintly said “ Yes.” 

Suddenly I clutched her hand with great force and said 
roughly, “Who is Louise?” 

She gave a short gasp of astonishment, and exclaimed, “ Oh! 
it must be my mother.” 

I also came near uttering an ejaculation for just at that in- 
stant we heard three distinct raps, but emanating from what spot 
I could not tell. Even the blind cannot locate a sounds if they 
are not aware of the position of the person or instrument produc- 
ing it. 

The fact was that I had become so occupied with my part 
that I had forgotten our Mr. Newcome. 

The raps, however, had a decided effect on the thief, for she 
said : “ Mother dear, are you near me?” 

“Daughter, your mother cannot manifest to-night ; the in- 
fluence is not strong enough ; and again, she is troubled. She 
bids me tell you through this medium that there is a shadow 
near you, she seeks to warn you of coming evil, and I hear these 
words repeated : ‘ Alice, pray to be forgiven.’ There is so much 
darkness around you ; strange voices, strange faces, and yet your 
mother Louise is near you. Now she is leaviug you, yet she still 
calls you by name, ‘ Alice — Alice — Alice.’ ” 

The influence began to depart. I gave a great sigh. Slowly 
I opened my eyes and after a short silence, said : “ I am very 


29 


dizzy, always so after giving a trying seance. Did you receive a 
satisfactory test ? ” 

Her voice shook as she replied to my question. 

We then rose and passed into the reception room where Miss 
Childs awaited us. “What makes you look so pale, Alice,” she 
exclaimed, as we entered. 

“ My mother came to me,” replied Miss Greville, and her 
voice still trembled a little. 

Then she turned to me : “Your fee is ” 

“ Two dollars, mademoiselle.” 

She opened ; her purse and handed me the money. 

“ Could you direct us to Fulton street,” she asked as she ar- 
ranged her wrap. 

“ You have only one block to go; Fulton street crosses G 

street ; but you must beware of the trolley cars,” J said, laugh- 
ing. 

As they were then ready, I opened the door for them. 

Two minutes after their departure Mr. Louis Newcome 
joined me. 

“ Was it all right,” I inquired. 

“ Could not have been better,” he returned ; “ you w~ere not 
too insistent. Now t Miss Greville will think over what you have 
told her and may be back to-morrow or the next day for another 
seance. That is what we want. Of course she will tell Miss 
Childs that she did not hear anything very astonishing, and will 
probably make light of the sitting to her friend ; still I feel sure 
that we have made an impression. 

“ If she should come to-morrow tell her that you cannot 
give her a seance on account of lack of time, but let her under- 
stand that she can make an appointment with you for the day 
following. We must not appear too anxious.” 

‘ ‘ j But where do you suppose the diamond necklace is all this 
time, Mr. Newcome?” 

Ah, that is what we do not tell the medium,” replied the 
detective. 

He put on his coat and went out. 


30 


PART ML 

\VJO my surprise, the next morning I received a telegram from 
*■ Louis Newcome, warning me to expect a visit at 2 p. m.> 
from Alice Greville. The detective arrived at one o’clock. “ The 
seance was very effective,” he said as he entered. “ Her class- 
mate has told me that she lay awake nearly all night, talking 
about her dead mother and sobbing at intervals. Here are the 
rest of the facts which you can weave into your seance this after- 
noon : Her father was the dishonest broker of the firm of Greville 
& Knowles, and Alice is a cleptomaniac. Greville died three 
years ago, and Alice inherits his money ; her uncle has been ap- 
pointed her guardian. Be a trifle bold in your work this after- 
noon, for this is one of the few times when a clairvoyant can 
speak with a degree of certainty.” 

After a few minutes Newcome retired to the third room and 
I sat down before the fire. It was snowing and blowing a gale, 
still we knew she would come. 

As I waited I fell to wondering what would be the fate of 
this beautiful girl who was afflicted by so terrible a malady. 
That she was cunning we could not doubt. Well, it was not my 
business to pity her youth and sex. 

Shortly after two o'clock the bell sounded. 

It was Alice. 

“I desire another seance, Monsieur Enarc,” she said as she 
loosened her cloak ; “ 1 leave Brooklyn this afternoon, and this is 
my last opportunity.” 

“ The storm has interfered with my engagements to-day, so I 
can hold a seance for you presently,” I replied. She lifted her 
veil, and I noted the anxious expression of her brilliant eyes. 
Never have I seen a more beautiful face than Alice Greville’s. 
It was delicately lined with expression, and crowned by masses 
of brown hair through which ran exquisite shades of gold. 

We entered the darkened cabinet and I immediately passed 
into the trance state. 

The spirit-guide, Dr. Oesmond, began to speak : “ Out of the 
shades and the sepulchres of the past come those you have 


35 


covered with miniature lakes of muddy water, and at last ar- 
rived at a hillock beside the highway. 

Upon this mound was an old tortoise, who had crawled 
from beneath a heap of dead leaves, and with neck outstretched, 
was gazing about with red eyes that seemed to express his dis- 
satisfaction at the state of the weather. 

He was indeed a very ancient tortoise, just one hundred 
years old, and having slept all winter in the heap of last year’s 
! leaves he had awakened, and came forth trusting to find a full- 
blown April day, but the miserable sky, the monotonous rain 
! and the clammy ground, made him uncomfortable. 

When, however, he perceived the dainty daughter of the 
Sun, he appeared more satisfied. 

She paused to tell him that spring had certainly come, and 
j that only a short time before she had discovered the first violet, 
a promising flower, growing in a meadow, merely a minute’s 
' journey down the road. 

“This being the case,” observed the old tortoise, “spring 
has truly come, and, I thank you for bringing me this piece of 
j good news.” 

Just as he finished speaking, they heard a flutter of wings, 
and their comrade, robin-redbreast, alighted on the knoll. 

“ Why, where have you been all this winter? ” cried the Sun- 
damsel. 

“ Ah ! Is it you sunny one?” the robin exclaimed, “I always 
fare south when cold weather comes on, but make a point of 
returning by April. This year I fear I have been too hasty in 
concluding my journey north. For the past two hours I have 
been looking for spring signals, and the only encouraging sign 
my eyes have yet rested on is our friend the tortoise, the philoso- 
pher of the fields, who never leaves his snug quarters until warm 
weather.” 

“ I should be willing to concur with you that it is yet too 
chilly for spring,” interrupted the tortoise, “if it were not that 
this sun-dancer has just informed me of her discovery of the first 
dear little violet in a marsh down the road. I believe I will 


36 

saunter over and have some conversation with the brave pretty 
flower.” So saying, the old sage plodded down the bank and 
left the Sun-girl and robin-redbreast. 

“I have already selected a magnificent site for my nest,” 
chattered the robin, “when the ancient tortoise had disappeared.” 

“ It is a large apple-tree, and when the branches break into 
blossom it will make the prettiest home I have ever had. 

“ Near the orchard where I have made my choice, dwells a 
singularly good girl. She gave me some delicious cake-crumbs 
this morning for my breakfast. Still I fear she is ill, for she is 
compelled to rest by her window, and appears extremely pale 
and thin.” i 

The robin’s description of his little friend interested the Sun- 
girl. “ Do show me where she lives,” she begged. 

“ With all my heart,” consented redbreast. He led the way 
over the fields until they came to his orchard, and just on the 
other side of it was the home of the bird’s friend. 

“ What is her name,” inquired the Sun-damsel as they flew 
along. 

“ I do not know her last name,” replied the robin, “ but her 
first name is Lulu, a very pretty name, do you not think so ? ” 

Just at that instant they both alighted on the window-sill. 

It was a beautiful sight for dear little Lulu when she raised her 
eyes and beheld a sunbeam and a robin-redbreast gaziog through 
the glass. She called her mamma, who came and opened the 
window and seemed so grateful that something had made her 
pale daughter happy. How pleased they all were, when red- 
breast plucked up spirit and encouraged by the Sun-child, who 
laughed with joy at the sight, picked crumbs from the sweet 
invalid’s hand. 

After some time, the sunbeam and redbreast returned to the 
orchard to view the site of the latter’s nest, and thus, while they 
were deeply engaged, suddenly the sulky clouds parted, great 
Phoebus shone, and all the Sun child’s brothers and sisters came 
tumbling and whirling and laughing through the mists, and 
made the landscape a thousand times more bright and enchant- 




37 


ing than before ; and when they learned that their sister had 
discovered the first violet their joy was boundless, and straight- 
way they ran to welcome it, taking her along as a. guide. 

We learn a little by hammering at old proverbs. Goodness 
is sure of an audience. Loving words are always to be found in 
life’s springtime, and so, taking advantage of the rifts in the 
mists, we may become bearers of as sweet tidings as the daugh- 
ter of the Sun bore to the ancient tortoise and robin-red breast. 



38 



HP 


O sombre song or Andalusian lay, 

Could act as setting for the Lady May ; 
Nor is the rounded rhyme or poet’s seine 
Quite capable to seize the vestal vein 
Of brief description, and in phrase relate 
The glory of the singer’s fair estate. 


By merry paths, through mystic meadows deep 
With tangled flowers of hope and triumph sweet, 
Still may you trip fair music’s vistas down, 

And cull the joy of each succeeding crown ; 
Nor fear that tragic fate may intervene 
To tear to tatters azure skies serene. 


Crowned Queen of melody and loveliness, 

Free all your hours be from bitterness ; 

May wreaths immortal challenge every care, 
And rich enchantment govern every prayer. 
The Gods of gray Olympus still have power, 
And give to Lady May their richest dower. 


31 


known and loved; there is a noise as of the breaking of the billows 
on the sea shore, the tangled skein of your life drifts before me, 
and the spirit of your mother stretches out her arms to save 
you. There is a shadow that will not leave you, and through the 
wavering mists I perceive long fingers reaching forth to grasp a 
glittering object.” 

By this time Alice Greville was overcome by superstitious 
terror and dread of this strange occult power that laid bare the 
secret of her heart. She began to sob hysterically. 

“ Whom shall I trust,” she exclaimed several times. 

“ Let your faith rest with the Spirit World.” 

She clasped her hands in a passion of fear and cried : 
“ Mother, I will give them back to-night.” 

The thought flashed with the words, she has the diamond 
necklace with her. 

At that instant all my criminal instincts were on the qui 
vive. Ah ! if Newcome was not concealed in the third room, 
those magnificent gems would be mine.” 

“ Alice, you have the diamonds,” I said slowly. 

There was light enough for me to observe the bewildered ex- 
pression of her tear-stained face as she unloosed the bosom of her 
gown and drew forth the circle of shining stones. 

“ You have done wisely,” I murmured, as I leaned forward 
to receive the necklace, but before my fingers could touch Mar- 
garet Child’s property, an arm was thrust through the drapery 
and the jewels were plucked from my sight by the detective. I 
sprang forward just as Alice Greville fell to the floor in a dead 
faint. It was some minutes before she revived, and then I re- 
tired glad that my disgraceful work was ended. Soon after, the 
girl accompanied by Louis Newcome, left my apartment. 

In the evening Newcome returned. 

“ You hypnotized her,” I said. 

“ Kindness is the best hypnotism,” he replied. “ No one 
must ever know of Alice Greville’s escapade,” he added as he 
handed me a check, which to my mind was a higher form of 
hypnotism than kindness. 


32 





0 


UT of the sea|lof sacrifice shall drift 

The ambergris|fof choice, God’s dearest gift. 


\j — KJ || 

Out of some sackplothed hour of hopeless tears. 

Faith will come sail |ng home and silence fears. 

^ — 0 — II 

A voice shall cry to thee, “The night is done, 

The unforgetting Father faileth none.” 

t/ — ^ — 1/ 

Then will thy eyes perceive the flower of prayer ; 
God’s love the stahjlway, and thy faith each stair. 



THE SUN-CHILD. 



lawn of the April day, the humdrum clouds had closed 



like great doors over the world, banishing the light of 


the bountiful Sun, and driving the charming Sun-children 


away. 


The Sun-babies did not grow fretful because they could no 
longer dance over the hedgerows and highways. 

Being sugar-plums of contentment they immediately began 
to devise other amusements. 

During the tedious winter they had reckoned the daj T s and 
made many as short as possible, in order to hasten the advent of 
spring. They desired to again hold their dances in fertile fields, 
converse with flowers, and make all things so bewilderingly 
beautiful that the song-birds would return, build their nests, 
sing, and be as joyous as they had been in any previous summer. 

Now as they were exercising above the clouds, one curious 
daughter of the Sun discovered a rift in the mist, and peering 
through, beheld the gray old earth. 

The prospect was not enchanting, for the rain continued to 
fall, and the villages and fields appeared desolate. 

The Sun-child hesitated a minute, then boldly slipping 
through the opening, descended rapidly, and at last reached a 
meadow. Here it was decidedly cold and lugubrious, and the 
sky frowned in such a threatening fashion that she had half a 
mind to return to her charming brothers and sisters. 

As she paused in the moist meadow, wondering what she 
ought to do, she chanced to glance at the ground, and at her 


34 


feet beheld a sad-hearted blue flower in the act of raising its 
pretty head to gaze at the dreary sky. 

In an instant she was beside the innocent, glowing with joy 
since she had found the first violet of the season. 

When the forlorn flower beheld the daughter of the Sun 
her sad ness, changed to glad surprise, and when the laughing 
Sun-girl kneeled and kissed away the rain tears from her fair 
face, she hastily concluded that, after all, the world was not so 
dismal and loveless, and was thankful that she had found her 
way out of the mold. 

The Sun-damsel, versed in flower language, welcomed the 
new-comer. “I am truly glad I have found you,” she said ; 
“ every spring we, that is, I and my brothers and sisters, try 
and see which one of us will find the first violet. For a long 
time yesterday we searched across the meadows for you, until 
at last our father summoned us to play the game of sunset, and 
after that we drew pictures in the west until bed-time.” 

“ For a long time I remained under the ground,” replied the 
violet, “because I did not know wdiere I was, or what to do; but 
an hour ago I heard a noise as of something gently striking the 
ground above me, and soon the soil became cold and very wet. 
I tried to move, and after a few attempts the earth loosened 
and I was able to raise my head. When I felt the force of the 
rain I was sorry I had not staid below. I fear I was crying 
when you came to me.” 

“ If I had not found you,” said the Sun-child, “ you would 
have continued lonesome and sad. It is always thus with the 
first violet ; but before many days the meadows will be full of 
fair flowers, and all the children of the Sun will come and help 
you make the spring days glorious. 

After saying these tender, hopeful words, the Sun-girl bade 
the comforted one an affectionate farewell and left the meadow 
rejoicing because she had found and cheered the first fragile 
flower of the year. When she reached the highway that ran by 
the margin of the pasture the rain suddenly ceased, but the sky 
was still overcast by dark clouds. She whirled along the road 


89 



^yPITH you who love me best, 

I meekly stand confessed ; 
Silent, unless 

I beg you to forget 
This hour with sorrow set ; 

And only bless 

The memory of days — 

Love’s promise paved highways 
By which we’ve come. 

Thus do I plead with you, 
Trusting you will renew 
Your faith in me. 

Thus doubting, I await 
Your messenger of fate, 

In tears, until 

Blue eyes through mists relent, 
Forgive and glow, content 
To love me still. 



U **■ 


y * 




U 





40 







©AIPIBNGE. 



Y|7Hii ) KE is a time for harvesting 
* Wreaths won, and cherished years ; 
A season for rejoicing, 

After the days of tears. 


Broad are the gifted meadow-lands 
Please God ! and do not tire, 

For ever hastening hands shall ope 
The gates of your desire. 


Let mother Patience bind your brow, 
Her benediction be, 

Gethsemane and Calvary 
To teach their strength to thee. 



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